


3

by firepixel



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M, kind of a poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firepixel/pseuds/firepixel
Summary: you did not wish for this one star to shoot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a thing i wrote on tumblr long ago. no names mentioned, but 's supposed to be rovinsky.

you do not sleep at night.  
not anymore.  
you torment yourself -  
( _your demons torment you?_ ) -  
with flashes of unconsciousness,  
fragile, intangible, like smoke -  
( _from his cigarettes, perhaps?_ ) -  
that race behind your eyelids  
into the void beyond.  
( _maybe he left it in you?_ )  
before you break the surface  
of your unstable, broken dreams  
with a scream, frantically   
gasping, spluttering,  
gulping in reality like air.  
( _who is it your lungs ache for?_ )  
just to sink again,  
below the surface of your thoughts,  
( _have you ever learned to swim?_ )  
deeper still, deeper, chasing  
your own nightmares, your -  
( _yours? his? does it matter?_ ) -  
own horror down, down, further  
still you can’t -  
( _can’t take it anymore?_ ) -  
can’t breathe, here, it’s so -  
( _are you hopeless, now?_ )  
dark, dark, oppressive, desolate,  
ink-stained and discordant,  
( _is it really ink, that dark?_ )  
he isn’t here to light it up.  
not anymore.  
( _was setting himself on fire  
not enough for you?_)  
and sometimes  
you think it would be easier   
to sink.  
( _would he want you to?_ )  
you can’t burn, no,   
not like he did, setting ablaze  
everything foolish enough  
to touch him.  
( _could you ever not?_ )  
you always were a moth  
drawn to his flame, his -  
( _his eyes, his lips, his knuckles?_ ) -   
white-hot insanity and   
his incandescent triumph  
over everything he laid -  
( _his claim to? did he claim you?_ ) -  
his eyes on, the king   
of substance, and, perhaps,  
immateriality as well.  
(he’s sure as fuck   
immaterial now.   
are you bitter?   
no, no, his pills were bitter -  
you’re just stuck with poison  
coating your tongue.  
it burns. funny, that.)


End file.
